


Suited

by ianavi



Series: I have your permission? [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU - First Meeting at a Conference, AU - John is a scientist, AU - Sherlock is a scientist, Dom!Sherlock, Fluff, Light BDSM, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Relationship Negotiation, Sub!John, Yeah... a spot of fluffiest fluff in a supposedly BDSM fic... you've been warned...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8694982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianavi/pseuds/ianavi
Summary: Suited. Dr. Sherlock Holmes looked at his reflection in the mirror, repeating the word to himself. Their meeting had been accidental. And the accident was… incredible. He’d truly never thought he’d meet someone so suited to the desires he hadn’t even admitted to himself in such a long time. --- Read the tags...





	

Suited. Dr. Sherlock Holmes looked at his reflection in the mirror, repeating the word to himself. Their meeting had been accidental. And the accident was… incredible. He’d truly never thought he’d meet someone so suited to the desires he hadn’t even admitted to himself in such a long time.

He hoped the choice of shirt, the deep aubergine colour, would compliment his pale complexion, help offset and warm his awkward facial features and rigid posture. He’d had his hair cut and was freshly shaved. The navy suit had only been worn once prior. Certainly not a man of flashy accessories, he’d gone out yesterday after work and purchased a brightly coloured scarf. He’d done everything he could think of, down to silk socks.

Still, he was beyond nervous. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat, then looked one last time at the mirror smoothing the lapels of his suit. He felt slightly feverish.

John Watson had, repeatedly, entrusted him with exceptional submission. And like an unworthy adolescent he tended to completely lose composure with John in his arms. Unable to restrain himself from kissing, biting, pawing at the man, pushing himself into those pink lips. He felt a rush of arousal at the thought and took several deep, slow breaths.

His last relationship had been a decade ago and had ended in bitter disappointment. Well, ‘relationship’ may be a stretch for a series of encounters with a man whose full name he now struggled to recall. Still, it stung to be bruskly abandoned. Ridiculed by a former sub. Called a ‘freak’.

He could not take for granted a man as remarkable as John Watson. And as gorgeous.

The restaurant was a thought through choice. The starched linen napkins, the crystal glassware - a setting that spoke of: long term, dedication, certainty.

He’d arrived slightly ahead of time, ordered sparkling water and took in the atmosphere.

John was now fifteen minutes late.

He closed his eyes to ward off an emerging headache.

“Sorry, so sorry!”

John stood at the table shaking off a wet overcoat, ignoring a waiter that hovered a step behind him waiting for the garment. Sherlock promptly stood up and waved the man and the garment away.

“Took the tube, there was a delay, of course.”

He pulled out a chair for John, and just about managed to seat the man without pressing his fingers into the damp fabric of his shirt, the back of his ruffled hair.

“The tube?”

“I… this seemed a place with a wine list?” John looked over his shoulder, a small smile, speaking with some uncertainty.

Indeed. “An adequate wine list, yes.” He sat across just as the waiter returned with the menus. One pointed glare and the man retreated with a bow.

“Not interested in the specials then?” A tight giggle.

He pretended to give the menu the briefest attention and raised his eyes to take John in. “I am quite certain of my choice tonight.” Cheeks slightly flushed, the corners of his eyes scrunched in a wide smile. Spectacular. And it seemed, just as nervous. Or perhaps only expectant.

He was not going to fail John now.

“Any recommendations?”

“They do an excellent hake in a chicory and anchovy relish, if you’re thinking fish. A balance of salt, bitter notes and umami.”

“Wow.” John stared back at the menu with a crease between his eyes.

“Or are you more of a game man, John?”

John squirmed, actually squirmed in his seat and looked around the other tables.

“Fish sounds great, yeah.”

The waiter had already been waiting for a nod.

“We’ll both have the hake. And bring a plate of your,” Sherlock enunciated the ridiculous name, “‘root veg nibbler’ to share as a starter.” To stave of any sommelier nonsense and further intrusions he also ordered a wine he was sure would pair well.

“You seem to be a regular here.”

Finally, the order settled, he had John to himself. “Once or twice. They are well known to source locally. The hake is a good sustainable fish to eat, especially gillnetted, off Cornwall…” He was truly the most boring man in whole of England. He adjusted his shirt cuff.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Still, John smiled beautifully.

“A good working week?”

“Quite good. A new grant’s come in and one of my PhDs has had an article accepted.”

“Oh, should have opted for a finer bottle then.”

“Oh, this is… more than I expected. Not exactly a beer and some peanuts, is it?”

He was struggling not to lean over and lick the enticing smile off John’s face.

“I’m glad you approve. The Trotting Mare down the street was booked for a stag night.”

He’d never tire of John’s laugh.

The starter arrived, as did the wine.

John was gesticulating with a parsnip crisp, in the middle of a very detailed account of a string of failed experiments. Sherlock offered a suggestion and John asked the waiter for a pen and started making notes on the crisp napkin.

He’d never wanted anything in his life this badly. And that included his securing the Marie Skłodowska-Curie blue-sky research funding for the lab.

The hake was fine, and finer still was John’s approach to pulling out the smallest of bones with his fingers and licking them as he spoke animatedly, completely unaware Sherlock had readjusted the napkin in his lap, twice. They’d just moved on to a second bottle of wine.

“Am I talking too much? It’s the wine. And, well, you. And seeing this place…” John glanced around.

“This place?”

“Yeah, it’s fantastic, actually.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Something was wrong.

“I… I didn’t want to say. I’d been here before.”

How… how could have he known. Oh, no.

His face must have shown his consternation because John set his glass down.

“No, it’s perfect, the food, everything. Thank you, really.”

“John…?”

John shrugged. “A bit embarrassing. Never made it past the bar last time…” A nervous chuckle. “Met someone. A first date. We were waiting for our table, having a drink at the bar. She kept answering her phone…”

He dreaded whatever it was John would now share. “Yes?”

“Well, the date was canceled then and there, at the bar. Between her taking two phone calls. A successful international curator…” John shrugged. “I was found… lacking.”

Sherlock stared.

“My… physique. She left. After a mortifying dressing-down. Yeah… I was still somewhat weak after my accident, my shoulder was a mess, and she had her sights on suspension… Gave up that website…”

The tiresome waiter chose that moment in particular to reappear with the dessert menu. Sherlock was perhaps too harsh.

He took several calming breaths.

“John.”

“Listen, I… should not have mentioned it. The dinner was exceptional, really. And you. I’ve had a wonderful time… I just wanted to say, if you’ve been rethinking… If this was the reason…”

Enough.

He set his foot down firmly over John’s under the table, stepping with controlled force. John’s eyes widened.

“John, I am an accomplished man. If I were to retire tonight I’d still have a career most of British academia can only dream of.”

“Yes, well aware.” John looked grim.

“And the biggest accomplishment of my life so far has been waking up to you in my arms.”

“Oh.” John looked down, blushing.

“You bring me such unexpected joy, John. Your submission is… Arresting. Humbling.” He watched John close his eyes. “Your physique? You are breathtaking. My last attempt at a full day’s restraint with you,” Sherlock shook his head, “barely lasted until lunch time. I have never experienced such intense desire… I find us uniquely suited to each other. And there is nothing I want more in life than to care for you.”

John barely whispered. “I…”

Still with the sole of his shoe firmly planted over John’s foot, Sherlock reached over the table and wrapped his fingers around John’s wrist.

“And since practically everyone is an idiot, some… curators… more than others, I have the absolute privilege of inviting you to dinner tonight… to ask you for something more permanent.” He squeezed his fingers. “I’d like to devote myself to you, John.”

John opened his eyes and looked, really looked. He nodded.

He sent the waiter away with his credit card and a request for a taxi while he helped John into his overcoat. Making sure every possible opportunity led to a reassuring touch.

The taxi ride to Baker Street was short. And intense. He kept John close with both his hands wrapped around John’s. Never taking his eyes off the man who kept silent during the ride.

Finally, they stood just inside the door of the flat.

"I have your permission?" Sherlock whispered.

"Yes." John sighed, smiled widely. Then closed his eyes and let his chin lower to his chest.

An incredible privilege.


End file.
